


why would you ever kiss me?

by potterpav



Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Las Vegas Era, M/M, Yearning, boris and theo go to a party, boris briefly has lipstick on, boris definitely swears more irl than in this fic, kotku is mentioned !, theo is jealous of kotku and boris, things occur, this fic isn't sad, young boreo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24007759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potterpav/pseuds/potterpav
Summary: boris persuades and drags theo to a party in las vegas, and they both end up enjoying it more than they thought
Relationships: Theodore Decker & Boris Pavlikovsky, Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Comments: 8
Kudos: 135





	why would you ever kiss me?

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is shorter than my last , as it is just a one part fic !  
> but still , i hope you enjoy ! <3
> 
> the title is from “heather” by conan gray

“Come on, Potter!” Boris pleaded, “Is only one party, what is harm?”

I stared at him, looking at the large, puppy-like eyes. Boris always went to parties of random girls in our class, wherever he got invited–he went to. He always asked me, but I never went with him. Boris would come back drunk and high, walk into my house–not realising the time or the fact this isn’t actually _his house_ –and fall into bed next to me.

I don’t know if he remembers, but he would always wrap his arms around me, muttering words I didn’t understand, only knowing the word ‘Kotku’, which was softly whispered into my ear.

I didn’t really want to go. I know she would be there.

“You go, you won’t have to worry about me if you go by yourself.” I told him, patting the hand he had placed on my thigh, one he had placed in plea of persuading me to come to the party.

“Yes but won’t be as fun…” Boris muttered, slipping his hand away and walking into the bathroom.

I ignored him. “Won’t Kotku be there?” I asked.

I heard a crash of bottles and Boris emerged, holding a bottle of my dad’s cologne, “Yes, why?” He replied, spraying the bottle over his clothes–they weren’t clean clothes.

“Well… you can just be with her? She is your girlfriend.” I said, staring at him. He was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, trying to scratch off a stain on his shirt with blunt fingernails, “I can give you a clean shirt if you want?”

Boris nodded with a smile on his face, “Yes, Potter, Kotku will be there but is nicer to be with you,” Boris watched me as I opened my drawers to find a t-shirt, “she doesn’t talk all that much at parties, only makes out with me and drinks, and she is a quiet drunk. When you are drunk? Hah!” I heard him walk over next to me and he placed a hand on my still shoulder.

“You get very loud when drunk,” Boris smiled, “Is exciting! Need more excitement in life, eh? That’s why you come with me, keep me company.”

His hand was still on my shoulder and he gripped to me when he finished his sentence. I wasn’t sure what to say–usually he doesn’t care so much about me coming. He asks once and leaves it, already knowing my reply. His gentle hand felt like a sign to go.

“Fine.” I said finally, tossing the shirt back round to him.

“Yes!” Boris laughed, “Potter, believe me: this will be great.”

I rolled my eyes and closed the drawer.

We had been at the party for a little while and I was already tired.

We hadn’t found Kotku for a while, but soon enough she showed her face–her piercings and black hair. Boris was glued to her immediately, lips attached, letting his hands go wherever they pleased.

I left them, walking up the stairs to find an empty bedroom.

I wasn’t even sure whose house it was, but this bedroom smelt of lavender and jasmine. The walls were dark green–same as my mother’s earrings–with a balcony. The house was beautiful.

What a shame it was going to be trashed by a bunch of cocaine-blitzed teenagers.

I hadn’t taken anything–surprisingly–at the party but I had drunk a lot of concoctions from random solo cups. I wasn’t drunk though, not yet, and I sat on the end of the bed, staring at the open closet. The balcony doors were closed, the moonlight gliding through the glass–the house was shaking with the bass of the music, it felt like a small earthquake.

I let my mind wander, tapping the edge of my cup with my blunt nails.

I wondered where Boris was. He was definitely with Kotku. I wondered what he was doing. Doing coke without me. Downing vodka. Reaching his pale hands up Kotku’s shirt and breathing onto her neck–

I blinked.

I wasn’t jealous. At least, I don’t think I was. Kotku bugged me. That was all.

But the thought of Boris kissing her, and holding her neck, and running his fingers along her waistband made my stomach feel sick. I don’t even think he liked her–not properly, not like a couple should like each other. He just saw her as someone to make out with.

I don’t know.

My thoughts slammed shut when I heard someone open the door.

“Knew I’d find you here.” Boris whispered.

His lips were smudged with red–Kotku’s lipstick–and he dropped his empty cup on the floor, walking over to me.

“Why are you up here?” He asked. He didn’t sound too drunk, I could see his hip jutting out of his jeans from where his shirt had ridden up.

My cheeks were warm.

“Too loud downstairs.” I replied, feeling the bed move as he sat down next to me.

“So many people down there!” Boris said, laughing slightly, he was staring at the open closet too, “You do not like party?”

I shook my head, “I prefer just doing lines with you.”

Boris nodded wisely, looking across at me, “Would rather do that, too.”

The room felt too hot, his presence filled every available space. Our shoulders were pressed against each other’s.

“You have lipstick on your lips, by the way.” I told him, an excuse to look at his lips.

“ _Pierdoli_ _ć,”_ Boris said to himself, but he didn’t bother wiping it off. Nothing bothered him, “Eh, no matter. Am sure I look good.”

I nodded, “That colour suits you.” I meant it as a joke but Boris looked at me with a look of intrigue on his face. Why didn’t anything bother him? I wish he would just say no, for once. Just push me away–but he never does.

“You like?” He asked, pointing to his lips, his eyes lit up.

“Yeah.”

“You want some?” He asked again. I stared at him. His face looked serious.

Oh. This hadn’t gone down the road I thought it would.

Boris placed a hand on my shoulder. The moonlight continued to glisten, shimmering along the floor, the room was dark. No lights were on.

Maybe in the cover of darkness, this would be okay.

I nodded slowly, looking down slightly but Boris tipped my chin back up.

“Okay.” Boris smiled.

And he _kissed_ me. Boris moved his hands to the back of my neck, his thumbs stroking my cheeks, and he kissed me. It wasn’t overwhelming. He tasted like cheap vodka, he smelt like cigarettes–but he always did. This Boris wasn’t different.

This was _my_ Boris.

He was so familiar to me.

When we broke apart, he leant his forehead against mine. Feeling the shuddering of his breath made me feel brave, and made me feel loved. He didn’t move his hands until he sat back. I missed the feeling of his fingertips pressed into my neck.

“See, my colour suits you now, Potter.” Boris told me, even in the dark light. I watched him breathe, his chest as it fell up and down–in complete rhythm. The lipstick had smudged from where we kissed. He sat like something wasn’t shared between us, like I hadn’t just given him a small part of myself.

He leaned back on the bed, supported by his elbows, still staring at the closet.

I wasn’t sure how often the chance to see Boris like this would arrive: lying on a bed, not completely drunk, wearing lipstick. Dark, red lipstick. It looked like blood. I decided that sometimes, risks had to be taken.

I wasn’t sure if it was me or the alcohol talking.

I fully turned to him, throwing my leg over his waist and straddling him. Boris’s eyes moved themselves up to me.

“Potter, what are you–”

“You can say no.” I told him, looking in his eyes. I wanted him to say no. I didn’t want him to see me the way I saw him. I didn’t want him to think I’m beautiful enough to kiss, to hold, to caress, to grip.

A century moved around us, our eyes locked. I could feel his hands moving up my thighs, I could feel his hands as they held my hips.

Boris smiled slightly. He didn’t speak, but he leaned his head up, and I met his lips.

I _kissed_ him.

Boris and I were kissing. He held me, his fingers creeping up my t-shirt, cold fingers against my cold skin. He was moving slowly. Wherever his fingertips landed left burn marks, I could feel it. His lips were so soft, his breath was erratic.

After some time, Boris pulled away, standing up and taking my hand.

“We have to go.” He said, pulling me to stand up.

“Why?” I asked, breathless and flustered. There were faint lipstick marks down his neck, and I was sure there were similar ones on mine. The lipstick against his pale neck made my stomach drop.

“Cannot continue here,” he said quieter, a grin on his face, “too risky. We leave, make excuse.” I nodded. _Continue._ Boris wanted to _continue_ this. He had forgotten Kotku–at least for the moment–and wanted to go home. _Our_ home. I was too overwhelmed.

“Okay.” I told him. Boris looked at my neck and smiled.

“You look beautiful like this, Potter.” Boris whispered to me, kissing my neck one more time. I swallowed hard, as he squeezed my hand and led me out of the moonlit room.

I was glad I went to this party.

I was glad Boris had forgotten Kotku.

I was glad I managed to make Boris breathless. I made him messy, I made him want more just by kissing back.

He thought I was _beautiful._

That was enough for me.


End file.
